Blood Song

One of the orcas broke the surface in a spectacular display of foam, twisting in mid-air before crashing into the sea with a boom that shook the ship. The Meldeneans roared their appreciation. Oh Seliesen, I thought. The poem you would have written to honour such a sight.

“They think of them as sacred.” I turned to find the Hope Killer had joined me at the rail. “They say when a Meldenean dies at sea the orcas will carry his spirit to the endless ocean beyond the edge of the world.”

“Superstition,” I sniffed.

“Your people have their gods do they not?”

“My people do, I do not. Gods are a myth, a comforting story for children.”

“Such words would make you welcome in my home land.”

“We are not in your homeland, Northman. Nor would I ever wish to be.”

Another orca rose from the sea, rising fully ten feet into the air before plunging back down. “It’s strange,” Al Sorna mused. “When our ships came across this sea the orcas ignored them and made only for the Meldeneans. Perhaps they share the same belief.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps they appreciate a free meal.” I nodded at the prow where the captain was throwing salmon into the sea, the orcas swooping on them faster than I could follow.

“Why are you here, Lord Verniers?” Al Sorna asked. “Why did the Emperor send you? You’re no gaoler.”

“The Emperor graciously consented to my request to witness your upcoming duel. And to accompany the Lady Emeren home of course.”

“You came to see me die.”

“I came to write an account of this event for the Imperial Archive. I am the Imperial Chronicler after all.”

“So they told me. Gerish, my gaoler, was a great admirer of your history of the war with my people, considered it the finest work in Alpiran literature. He knew a lot for a man who spends his life in a dungeon. He would sit outside my cell for hours reading out page after page, especially the battles, he liked those.”

“Accurate research is the key to the historian’s art.”

“Then it’s a pity you got it so wrong.”

Once again I found myself wishing for a warrior’s strength. “Wrong?”

“Very.”

“I see. Perhaps if you work your savage’s brain you could tell me which sections were so very wrong.”

“Oh, you got the small things right, mostly. Except you said my command was the Legion of the Wolf. In fact it was the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot, known amongst the Realm Guard as the Wolfrunners.”

“I’ll be sure to rush out a revised edition on my return to the capital,” I said dryly.